I had a realization the other day involving Lucy and her uncanny ability to turn me into a complete lunatic. She's in that phase of Finding Her Boundaries and delights in doing things which make me turn that color she likes (magenta). And then I realized that she was doing exactly that - trying to turn me magenta - and when I realized it, it became sort of a game. She'd push my buttons and keep trying different combinations and waiting for the tumblers to fall into place while I hummed the theme to I Dream of Jeannie, which drove her insane. This was in itself completely worth the effort it took to keep humming.
It's worked great, until tonight. She was going through the motions of being in turns defiant/sassy/whiney/insert annoying behavior here and I was humming along to myself, barely holding on because she was really giving it her all this time, and then she said "you never help me." And I turned magenta.
"I spend most of my day helping you," I countered in a not completely mentally balanced tone. "I have given up just about everything I have done and been so I can spend my days helping you." As I went on (and on) in this vein I noticed movement in the corner of the room and realized Chris had come home and was standing in the kitchen with his jaw dropped.
Lucy stopped her sassy defiant whining and stared at me. And then she came over to be hugged. "I love helping you," I told her, "but it's like if you told me 'you never feed me dinner.' Would that be true?" She shook her head, eyes still saucer-like.
The thing with epic blowouts is that when the pieces fall back down to earth they don't land in the same place. Hopefully one has Feng Shui-ed the pieces while still airborne, making them land in better places. I think maybe this happened tonight. Oh sure she'll use the same line again when she wants me to blow up in that amusing fashion, but I'll know it's just a line. And she'll know, somewhere deep inside, that I love her more than all the late breakfasts, the f-word and anything else I may be currently forgoing.
At dinner she told me she loved me more than anything and I told her she could never know how much I love her. "Actually," I said, "someday you might have a baby of your own. And you will look at that baby and think, my mommy loves me this much."
And then she sang me a song that a mother sings to her child in a book they read at school. It is essentially "you will always be my baby and I will always love you."
"Yeah," she said. "It makes my teachers cry when they read it, too."